


Baking Powder

by Dienda



Series: College AU drabbles [1]
Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - College/University, Crack, M/M, One Shot, Pre-Slash, Recreational Drug Use, Roommates, Singing, Unresolved Sexual Tension, happy fic, no moleskins were harmed in the making of this fic, special brownies
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-24
Updated: 2014-05-24
Packaged: 2018-01-26 08:28:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,777
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1681577
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dienda/pseuds/Dienda
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Will, Matt and Hannibal are roommates at college.</p><p>Matthew bakes some special brownies. Against his better judgement, Hannibal decides to try them. Alana comes along for the ride.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Baking Powder

**Author's Note:**

> I don't claim full credit for this. The College AU is the product of my dear Eva's mind. I'm merely the ink from which flows her poem.

Will and Matthew were sitting at the small table when Hannibal stepped into the kitchen; they were eating what looked like chocolate cake straight from an oven dish. There was flour in their hair and clothes. He wrinkled his nose at them.

“Matt made special brownies,” said Will between bites.

Hannibal ignored them and went on to retrieve a bottle of sparkly water from his side of the refrigerator. He’d tasted Brown’s poor attempts at baking before and was in no hurry to repeat the experience.

Will cut another piece. Matt’s cooking was vastly different from the gourmet stuff Hannibal often prepared, but Will loved its cosy, homemade feel.

Matt was happy with the results of his kitchen adventures as long as Will kept eating.

“Come on, H. One brownie won’t kill you.”

Hannibal glared at the nickname but came closer to the table. He leaned down and examined the tray. The consistency didn’t seem too cloying; it didn’t look like the dough at the bottom had burnt. Still, he inhaled more deeply.

“William,” he straightened. “Are you aware these so called brownies are laced with cannabis?”

Will stopped chewing and frowned.

“Yes? That’s sort of the point, Hannibal.”

“So, want one?” asked Matt as he cut another square.

“I did not expect this from you, Will,” chided Hannibal.

“We’re just trying to relax after midterms.”

“I’m sure you’re aware psychoactive drugs can lead to erratic or violent behaviour.”

“Jesus, Lecter; we’re eating pot brownies, not chugging PCP.” Matthew pointed a finger at him. “Just last week you were going on about all the virtues of ‘shrooms.”

“Psilocybin psychotherapy can be a positive or even spiritual experience; it can help someone access problematic memories,” said Hannibal. “ _Getting_ _high_ with one’s roommates hardly counts as therapeutic.”

Matt opened his mouth to speak but was promptly stopped by a kick under the table.

“You could approach it as scientific experiment. If you become a psychiatrist, how could you recommend psychoactive therapy to your patients if you’re not truly acquainted with the treatment you’re offering?” reasoned Will.

 

Hannibal narrowed his eyes at them.

“It’s fine if you don’t want to do it.” Will smiled reassuringly. “We’ll just keep to my room; we won’t bother you.”

“If you hear weird noises just ignore them.” Matthew winked at Will. The other boy blushed and looked away.

Hannibal rolled his eyes and sat down.

“Well, I suppose I could ingest a modest dose and observe the effects,” he conceded.

“That’s the spirit. Do it for science.”

Hannibal took a piece and bit it with the air of a stern food critic.

“You added too much sugar,” he declared.

Matt glared at him.

“Man, shut up and eat your pot.”

“Hey,” said Will before they could start arguing. “I’m not getting stoned in the kitchen; let’s hang out in the sitting room while Alana gets here.” He grabbed Matthew’s hand and pulled him towards the door.

“Alana Bloom?” Hannibal seemed to perk up at the name. He’d helped Alana study a few times and liked her very much; she was kind and smart, and had perfectly good manners.

Will nodded.

“She texted me she was on her way, should be here any minute now.”

They settled on the couch. Will grabbed Matt’s DS from the coffee table and, a moment later, the Nintendogs tune came out of the little speakers.

Hannibal went into his room and came out with a moleskin and a pen. He sat down in his armchair, checked his wristwatch and began taking notes.

“My God,” exclaimed Matt. “He’s actually doing it for science.”

Before Hannibal could say anything, the front door opened and Alana came in, a giant bag of pretzels in her arms.

“Are you guys already high?” she greeted. Her eyes widened when she saw Hannibal. “Hey, I didn’t think you’d be up for this sort of thing.”

“He’s indulging the experience for the sake of psychotherapy,” explained Will.

“Great.”

“As Will says, I have an academic interest in this activity.” Hannibal conceded. “It is you I didn’t imagine would partake in this sort of thing.”

Alana blushed a bit and smiled lopsidedly.

“I really need to unwind after the last couple of weeks, exams were brutal. It was either this or going out for beers with my roommates. This is less likely to end in disaster, so here I am.”

Will sighed.

“When doing drugs is the more responsible option.”

She smiled brightly.

“Exactly.”

 

They ended up talking about the midterms and how they expected their grades to go. Alana took their old, beaten lazy boy while Will and Matt curled together on the couch.

Hannibal got up and went back into the kitchen. He came out with another square of cake.

“I’m adjusting the dose according to my weight and metabolic rhythm,” he said as he sat back down. The relaxed line of his shoulders and the faint shine in his eyes showed he was beginning to feel the effects of the brownies.

Alana had taken out her IPod and the languid chords of the Beatles’ _I’m only sleeping_ drifted in the half-light of the small foot lamp.

“Is this it?” asked Hannibal a couple of minutes later.

“Is what it?” said Will with a raised eyebrow.

“We’re not supposed to do anything else?”

“Not really? Just wait and enjoy the buzz when it hits you. We could turn the television on if you want.”

Matt scoffed.

“What were you expecting, an orgy?”

“Hardly an orgy.” Alana chuckled. “Especially with these two.” She gestured in the couch’s general direction.

“Really, H; don’t believe every after-school special you watch.”

Hannibal didn’t say a word, but he began scribbling furiously on his moleskin.

 

The night turned completely black. The bag of pretzels was ripped open on the coffee table. Alana was playing with the DS, her feet kicking in time with the music. Hannibal had his head thrown back against the headrest of the armchair, his eyes closed.

Will and Matthew were tangled together on the couch, faces inches apart. They were whispering poetry verses and song lyrics, and smiling at each other. Matt’s hand was under Will’s shirt, rubbing small circles on the other boy’s side. Will was tracing the freckles on Matthew’s cheekbones with his fingertips.

When Matt brushed his lips against a wandering finger, Will drew his hand back with a breathless chuckle.

“Jesus, you two are ridiculous.” Alana was scrunching her nose. She straightened up and pointed at them. “How can you not see you’re absolutely in―” she trailed off and turned to the other chair. “Is Hannibal really humming _Hello Goodbye_?”

They turned the volume down.

“Well, he’s certainly humming something.”

Indeed, Hannibal was waving his hands and humming, his eyes still closed.

“I know!” Alana jumped in her seat, sending the videogame to the floor. “It’s that opera thing, were the girl dies at the end.”

Will made a face.

“Because there’s only one opera where a girl dies at the end.”

“The one in Paris.” She covered her face with her palms. “La Bohème!”

Alana proceeded to hum along with Hannibal.

When he heard her, Hannibal seemed to come alive; he sat up straight and began singing the words to _Questo mar rosso_.

Matthew hid his laughter in Will’s shoulder.

Suddenly, Hannibal grabbed his moleskin and threw it at the foot lamp.

_“Il mio dramma, I'ardente mio dramma ci scaldi!”_

They all stared in a second of stunned silence.

Then, Alana almost fell off her seat with a snort of laughter. Will and Matthew held onto each other, breathless with silent giggles.

Hannibal closed his eyes, chuckling languidly, and slumped in his chair.

 

After the opera session was done Hannibal started speaking French.

He was leaning towards Alana, and he seemed quite serious about the subject at hand, whatever it was.

“I don’t think he’s even aware of doing it,” commented Will, fascinated.

Alana seemed absorbed with the conversation. She had a thoughtful frown on her face, and she was nodding her head along to Hannibal’s words.

“Oui, oui,” she agreed from time to time.

Will knew for a fact she had dropped French after one semester.

Matt shook Will’s arm.

“Make him stop.”

“Hannibal.” The older boy stopped and turned to him. “We don’t speak French, remember?”

Hannibal nodded and switched language.

It still wasn’t English.

“Jesus, what the hell is that?” asked Matt with a horrified expression. “Should we get a priest?”

“I think that’s his native language,” mumbled Alana.

“So, is that a ‘yes’ to the priest?”

“Hannibal,” Will tried again. “We can’t understand a word you’re saying.”

That earned them a glare and another string of words in Lithuanian; the offended tone didn’t need a translation.

After that, Hannibal stood up, straightened the line of his trousers, went into his room and closed the door behind him.

The sitting room exploded in a chorus of giggles.

 

Next morning, Hannibal walked into the kitchen and stopped when he saw his two roommates sitting at the table. They were eating cold sausages straight out of the package.

“Good morning. How are you?” asked Will.

“I need coffee.”

Normally he would brew his own in his French press, but now he just took a mug from the cupboard and headed for Will’s coffee machine.

“You have a lovely singing voice,” commented Matthew with an innocent smile.

Will sipped his coffee to hide his smile.

“Stop.” Hannibal sat down. “I refuse to admit that happened.”

“Alana commandeered my bed; she’s still drooling on my pillow,” commented Will. “If you want to get rid of the witnesses.”

Hannibal paled.

“Alana saw everything.”

“You mean you don’t remember the duet?” asked Matt.

Hannibal closed his eyes with a sigh.

“ _O soave fanciulla_.”

“Yep.”

“She couldn’t do much beyond giggling but she certainly tried to keep up.”

Without a word, Hannibal stood up, mug in hand, and retreated to his room.

“Got any fuzzy memories, Matt?” asked Will when they were done laughing.

“Nope. I remember perfectly well that you finally made a man out of me last night.”

Will chocked on his coffee.

“Damn, Matt. Are you sure you didn’t slip some hallucinogens into the brownies?”

“I’m joking, baby. I know you want to be perfectly sober when we finally consummate our love.”

“Jesus, Matthew.” Will blushed all the way to his ears. He raised and left his mug in the sink. “I’m going to see what’s on TV.”

Matthew jumped to his feet.

“No, wait; I’ll get my phone. I didn’t record the first songs but I didn’t miss the part where he pretended to direct an orchestra. Let’s watch that again.”


End file.
